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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705215">Running On Empty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowMadison/pseuds/WillowMadison'>WillowMadison</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alphahole, Bulimia, Dacryphilia, Dom/sub, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heavy Angst, Humiliation, Married Couple, Married Life, Married Sex, Mindfuck, Misogyny, POV First Person, POV Male Character, POV Original Character, Possessive Behavior, Punishment, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism, Total Power Exchange, Vomiting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:23:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowMadison/pseuds/WillowMadison</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His wife had fucked up. It happened. Now, he had to set her straight.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Running On Empty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Her need for perfection, to be perfect...for him...in her own mind, it overwhelmed his wife sometimes. The need battered, like waves at a cliffside, against the constant background noise of her past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was well aware of the power that past possessed. He also knew she often found herself on the wrong side of those waves, as jetsam churned and crushed under a powerful weight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Recently, she’d messed up with the rules. A few too many times for his liking. But more importantly, a few too often for his wife to stay afloat in that churning sea of her punishing past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he’d have none of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.</span>
</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was the only power she’d yield to, the only source of punishment for her. He’d be the lifeline, a buoy, to anchor her securely back to the present. Even if that meant chaining, whipping, and drowning his sweet wife in misery before the night was over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So. This had to be dealt with. As it had to be every so often. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He steadied himself for the undertaking. He knew he’d equally enjoy and loathe what came next, what </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come next. He’d think of the enjoyment he’d take from it later, in privacy, away from his weeping wife. For now, he’d do what needed to be done and take his rightful pleasure from it as he would from any display of his dominance over his subjugated wife, his beloved and cherished property.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How often?” He allowed wrath to drip into his voice, however calm he stayed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sniffled, keeping her eyes lowered to her knees firmly planted on the hard floor before him. Her reply barely registered above a whisper. “Only once, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He withheld a grimace and shake of his head. He’d let her go for too long. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Only</span>
  </em>
  <span>, girl? You know better...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She flinched as if his hand had slapped. He was tempted, that was for sure. “I’m sorry…” She shivered, her bare tits bouncing, nipples peaking. “Once. Sir.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s once too often. Isn’t it, girl?” He silently prayed this wasn’t worse than he thought—that she’d settle under the yoke of his chastisement easily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In their short marriage, they’d only once been down this road when she needed more direction than his voiced disappointment. The memory of that session was one which brought him many nights of reflection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her solemn nod brought him some solace that this night might be a shorter one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. Get to it.” He hated himself for the harshness to his tone, but it was necessary. His cock was already hardening, and he’d think later on that, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On her knees still, she wiggled and inched her way closer to him. He affected a cold stare to watch her shaking release of his cock from his boxers. He was amazed at the strength of his evident interest, yet let none of his misgivings show as he impatiently inclined his head as her sole direction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His beautiful wife opened wide her supple mouth, closing her eyes and cinching her arms together behind her back. She became a pure vessel for his use—a pliant supplicant, a penitent wrongdoer, a wet hole. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't need to hold her in place, she’d force herself to stay still for each of his deep thrusts. No. He had only to remember himself through the pleasure of using her. His role was to focus on </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> now as much as he demanded she focus on him on a daily basis. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When you </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> up, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span> punishes you?” The emphasis was harder for him to grit out, only partially because her mouth felt so damn good. When she started slobbering around him, mouthing a reply, he bit back a groan of pleasure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>These sessions were unlike all their others. In his marriage, the foundation of inequality, misogyny, and sadism meant he could lose himself to a certain degree. Sure, he had to remain cognizant of her limits, but those were few save some physical requirements for safety’s sake. Most days, and nights, he paid little concern to his wife’s needs. She was there to serve, and in serving, her needs were met. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were, to put a finer point on it, a match made in D/s heaven.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d snatched her up and slapped an ownership ring around her finger before she could wise up to just how perfect she was. He knew. And it’d taken him less than six weeks from their first meeting to decide he was never letting her go. Dealing with her past was part of the deal of ownership—he’d known that from the beginning too. So. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing quietly, he pushed his hand into her soft hair, holding her head in place for a few thrusts deeper. He didn’t penetrate down her throat. Not yet. But the satisfying sounds of her struggle made him murmur his next chastisement. “And fucking sluts like you should know better than to use your brain for anything except thinking about your owner’s pleasure. Isn’t that right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nod she added to all the slobbering made his cock bump against the back of her throat. This time he let a groan growl out. On her knees, stuffed by his cock, eyes squeezed closed against tears, cheeks flushed...his wife was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> beautiful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An instant stab of guilt had him staggering, but he stopped himself from moving away. He’d allowed her to become unwound, and he blamed himself for that as much as he blamed all the fuckers who’d ever mistreated her fragile sweetness before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Unwound</span>
  </em>
  <span> was his own term for his wife’s...condition. Before they’d met, she’d been through enough therapists, unsuccessfully, to have a more clinical terminology applied as a diagnosis. None of that mattered anymore. He knew the best treatment, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> way to rewind his gorgeous wife back into the strong submissive she’d always longed to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her gagging around his cock increased into gurgly. He closed his eyes on the exquisite scene as he rocked back and forth to the steady wet slurping. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To wrap his brain around the necessary lecture to come, he had to slow down. Squeezing his grip around a handful of her hair, he relished the feel of his heavy cock against her tongue while he sniffed deeper, calming breaths in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There really was nothing better than his wife on her knees in service. But that wasn’t what this was about, not now...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think I want an </span>
  <em>
    <span>empty</span>
  </em>
  <span> husk for a wife? A woman </span>
  <em>
    <span>purged</span>
  </em>
  <span> of any strength? You think </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> what I’d want?!” He allowed anger to seep into his voice, but it was forced and he hoped she didn’t notice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If his feelings were given freedom to be expressed, he’d probably cry futile tears for not being able to stop her return to this. He’d likely wail a torrent of curses against all her demons, too. And he’d absolutely promise anything to any deity of man or nature to see her past this pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But in none of that would he be angry with </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the hold he had in her hair, he twisted her head so her gaze met his. Her mouth still stretched obscenely around his hard cock, the saliva still dripping down her chin. He chilled his words with the hope they could be the last utterance of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve told you what I expect, and still you disappoint me.” He shook her head, liking the scrape of her teeth against the soft underside of his cock. Her lids lowered but she kept her eyes trained on him, a testament to just how much she wanted to please him even from the dark well of her inner despair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you eat the whole bowl?” Now that he’d reached this part of the ritual, his voice was stronger, as iced over as the vanilla treat in question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One glance through the kitchen door showcased the china bone bowl where it was abandoned at the dining table. As instructed, she’d lit candles and dressed the table with their finest linens and cutlery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Early on, he’d stumbled upon that bit of the ritual—the elegance of fine dining juxtaposed against the brutality of what was to come seemed to hammer his message into his recalcitrant wife’s head better than any words. Forcing her to prolong the inevitable, to act out his orders in perfect, ladylike obedience, alone...it appealed to him in ways he’d given up questioning. It was effective. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> was what mattered most here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good girl.” Heat bloomed her cheeks to a cherry red. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The image of her scooping big spoonfuls of ice cream, one with a cherry on top, into her stretched mouth had him rocking his hips forward again. Except, there was no cherry in the ritual. No, he’d figured out through hours of interrogation of his wife what was best served up for his purposes was plain vanilla ice cream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve fucked up.” She hitched a louder sob, shaking against his hand on her, his cock inside her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The first time was a mistake,” he guessed—correctly by her quick nodding—and continued with an added need to hide his relief at having this confirmed, “But then you continued to fuck up the rules.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shuddered but nodded assent finally. Her shame turned her chest crimson. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused to brace himself for an answer he might not like. Mistakes he could deal with. If she was fucking up on purpose….</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you want to get here? Is that why you fucked up?” He tried to sound almost gentle but a tinge of fear made it come out more accusatory, and he supposed that was better anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her whole body shook with a vehement </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He let his hold on her head slide into one small caress before he tightened his fist again. “You fucked up because you weren’t properly focused. Isn’t that right, slut?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sobs and more slobber affirmed this. He bit back a smile and stopped to admire his view longer. Her tits were well coated with spit now, droplets shining her erect nipples. Her taut stomach quivered and her thighs trembled. The dark curl of hair hid the wetness he knew he’d find. She’d be more of a mess before he was through with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“While you should’ve been focused on serving me, you’ve been beating yourself up for every little mistake. You’re mine, my property. Punishing you is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> job, my privilege, my right.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Letting go of her hair, he quietly commanded, “You know what to do.” He silently prayed this was the last time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was until most thoughts slipped from his mind for a moment. The feel of his wife choking herself on his engorged cock made rational thinking impossible for a few split seconds. With great effort, he forced words out, “That’s it. Get my cock down your slut throat. Gag on it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She did, gagging more the deeper she took him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This didn’t fail to astound him, too. Not just how deep his petite wife could tolerate his cock going—that was certainly noteworthy—but that she gagged at all. For the past year, he’d trained her almost daily to deepthroat him, so now she was able to relax and open on command. Anymore, it was necessary for him to use his hand around her throat to choke out tears if he wanted them to go along with his climax. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet, here she was doing all the work of choking herself and gagging so loudly he wondered where she was getting the air for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew she was close by the tight clenching retches around his cock. He helped her along with a few hip thrusts forward. It was all he needed to spurt copious cum down her open channel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The result was instantaneous. He pulled himself out and her head down, keeping her hair well within his grip and out of the way, as the first torrent of vomit escaped her lips. She gasped and shivered and threw up more until she had only sobs to release.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sagging against his legs, she quietly wept, spent finally of some of the emotions that haunted her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The repugnant scent of puked up ice cream—a combination of such terrible sweet sourness—rose around them, filling the once-pristine kitchen. He’d leave the puddle, for now, returning while she slept to clean it himself as a final sign of his forgiveness. He’d ignore the satisfaction that would nag at him from seeing his cum mingled within the mess. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But this night wasn’t over yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking a firmer grasp of her hair, he shook her again. “Is that what you </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve</span>
  </em>
  <span>? To be </span>
  <em>
    <span>empty</span>
  </em>
  <span> of everything?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anger was easier to feign this time. He was irate thinking of the possibility of losing his wife to her battle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With her mouth free, she knew he expected a verbal reply. She hoarsely choked, “No, sir.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you deserve?” He held his own breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She finally raised her tear-filled eyes to him. Her face was a splotchy flush, wet in spots. Her lips trembled yet her answer came out stronger. “You, sir. Your love.” She finished in a whisper, “Even when I fuck up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He allowed his shoulders to sag minutely when the great weight of relief hit him at once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patting her head, he didn’t attempt to hide any affection from his warm confirmation. “That’s right, slut.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He helped her up, swatting her ass hard in the direction of their bedroom. “Brush your teeth and get in the shower. I’ll join you in a minute.” He liked to give her a chance to clean off the last of her guilt in solitary reflection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he threw a few paper towels on the mess, she sheepishly eyed his movements. He only had to give her an arched brow in warning before she scurried down the hall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he took a few long drags from the bottle. A smile lifted his lips. Thinking of his wife soaping herself up—stray tears falling, randomly hitched breaths shaking her tits, need between her legs throbbing harder—he stalked after her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tonight, he’d add to this painful ritual. She’d not be sleeping until all three of her holes were well and truly filled by him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
  </div></div>
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